


moonsick

by tidalwavs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Introspection, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Sexual Content, is it even a tidalwavs fic without the good hurt and happy ending?, omg and they were fwb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tidalwavs/pseuds/tidalwavs
Summary: Suna lies awake in the gray predawn of one more day. He thinks and thinks and thinks how he is constantly stuck between trying to choose among the following:a.) telling him and finally becoming everythingb.) choosing not to tell him but getting to stay in his life anywayc.) telling him and then having none of him at allHe thinks of Osamu even when there was no space left to think of himself.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 25
Kudos: 137





	moonsick

**Author's Note:**

> i am alive. here have some 7k words of suna overthinking and being dense and osamu being patient. this is not beta read so sorry for the mess!
> 
> anyways we should all thank my dormmate for tagging me in a suna meme. i suddenly remembered this thing exist in my drafts.

**I**

He actually likes him.

But Suna Rintarou calls it a phase. Calls it like an old fixation in an emo band. Calls it as if it was a bygone Instagram trend. Calls it like an old hobby everybody goes through, like photography. Calls it like a short-term routine like some New Year’s Resolution. Calls it a moon phase.

Suna calls Miya Osamu a moon phase.

He looks at the sleeping face of Osamu and thinks, they never fall asleep at the same time. Osamu consistently goes first. They spend the evening together however by the time the moon is high on top, Suna is alone. He thinks that all of Osamu’s good night’s sleeps are terrible in reality, partly because of him. Suna is the one who watches him sleep, after all.

Suna wonders whether Osamu can taste the bitterness from his mouth whenever Osamu kisses him. Knowing Osamu, it isn’t the sort of thing he would particularly notice. He figures they should already stop this, not that Osamu would particularly care anyway. Right?

When did it even start being _weird_ with Osamu?

_Personal?_ No, this is completely, ultimately, bigger than just something personal now.

_Intimate_ , isn’t the right word either. He refuses to say it since Osamu only shared some time with him in high school and now, a year of whatever-is-this. Osamu only knows about EJP, his favorite meals, such trivial things and that was it. Well, maybe sharing a few of his favorite things in his hometown is indeed personal but that was it and sharing apartment keys was only for the convenience.

But he knows Osamu’s shift schedule at his shop, he knows that he is actually the younger twin and his favorite onigiri flavor is the same as Atsumu, the spicy tuna, which is something he hates to admit since he thinks it’s a disrespect to the other food and he never dries his hair after a shower at night.

He also knows the reason why he dyed his hair back to black, he is a small spoon, he can’t stand sour food and that he is actually good with kids; or that he and Atsumu go to a playground in their neighborhood every New Year to pound mochi for the children and elderly since their second year of high school.

And why does Suna know all of this? Some of these are actually known facts already if Suna talked to Osamu more in high school. But teenagers Miya Osamu and his brother gave a bad impression that screams trouble to teenager Suna Rintarou. He _partially_ did a good job ignoring them back then but even though in their professional lives, they somewhat still made their way in his life. Especially Osamu.

Miya Osamu is not a highschool _‘thing’_ , only sees him as an old friend: a product of 3 years of playing volleyball together and 3 years of being stuck with him in the same class. A friend, not even a close friend. In all honesty, he was more of a buddy with Gin or Atsumu, because Gin is _actually nice_ and Atsumu, that asshole, doesn’t leave his ass alone. If being buddies with Osamu means anything, it’s a mutual dead silence. _“I get sleepy every time I look at the two of you together”_ , as Aran would say.

Miya Osamu is a midlife crisis _‘thing’_ , if that makes sense because nothing makes sense in Suna’s life for the past years of his life in his 20’s. You graduate highschool and kind of wish you never bump into old schoolmates again. You go to college and get a job, or in Suna’s case, play professional volleyball. You get a lover or in Suna’s case, it has always been faceless people and bodies casted in dark shadows. It was convenient that way. Easy.

So, when did this _thing_ exactly happen?

He thinks of that izakaya in one of EJP and MSBY’s aftermatch, Atsumu and Sakusa’s sudden disappearance, his weak alcohol tolerance, a generous genuine invitation, and a logical reason for staying at Osamu’s nearby apartment overnight.

Nothing really happened at first, but Osamu held his arm like a good old high school friend and guided his embarrassing plastered ass walking all the way to his apartment. _That’s fine_ , that was what he thought at that time because he was sure it was just another chance meeting and he won’t even remember any shit from that night. They talked and laughed about episodic memories from high school. Like the new moon above the blue-black pre-midnight sky, it’s not really visible at first but nevertheless, it was a start.

* * *

Suna shifts his position and stares at the sleeping figure of Osamu in the dark, watches the way his chest rises and falls like a full moon deciding to end or start the night.

He thinks about _that night._

It was an idea worthy of the question: _‘what will you change if you were given the chance to come back in the past?’_. Suna would probably come back when it was that hour in the night where trains were making their last trips, but the karaoke bars still bustle. Just another chance meeting of being in the same city as the person who let you crash in their apartment overnight some time ago on a weekend night. They settled drinking alcohol from cans, chasing it with potato chips on a portable table outside of a convenience store, just at the side of the road of the city’s food district. A faint silvery waxing crescent moon hung low at the sky, less than one-half illuminated by the sun.

And maybe it was really the alcohol’s fault, his low alcohol tolerance, and a few convenient excuses. Because as stupid as it sounds, a game of a half-joking 50 questions later, his stupid self concluded that maybe Osamu is someone maybe he could mess around with.

“Hmm, so how’s life?” Osamu asked after taking a straight, big gulp from his can of happoshu.

“Pretty darn good, I guess.” he answered as he ripped opened a bag of potato chips. “You?” he returned the question to Osamu.

There was a long pause and a pout on his face before answering. “So-so.” he said as he lightly swung the can on his hand. Suna narrowed his eyes on him, asking him to elaborate. “Oh ya know, ‘business stuffs’.” he made a quoting gesture on air, “Can’t catch a break these days, constantly goin’ back and forth in shop branches and don’t even get me started with the finances.” he rambled under his breath.

“Alright I won’t ask about ‘business stuffs’ anymore.” Suna copied his hand gestures and chuckled. “Any news from our former teammates? Have you seen Riseki’s girlfriend on Insta?”

“Yeah yeah! Actually, he dropped one time with her in my shop.”

“How about you?” Suna wiggled his eyebrows at the question. “Anyone?”

Osamu slightly tilted his head as a reaction, a breathy laugh followed. “I am a busy man ya know.” he answered. “And ya?” he bounced back the question at Suna with the same raised eyebrow.

“What? Are we gonna play 50 questions now?”

“Yeah. How do ya like yer eggs in the mornin’?” Osamu said without missing a beat.

“Are you-” Suna looked at Osamu in the eye, trying to read his mind. “Sunny side up. Runny yolk. No ketchup.” he answered, maintaining eye contact.

“Controversial.”

“Your pick-up lines are controversial.”

They talked and talked and talked. Their topics drifted from volleyball to the whereabouts of old teammates and classmates, the old teachers they made fun of, apartments to relationships and one time things. And oh, he was honestly surprised.

_Ah, this person is actually talkative and decent._

This Osamu is contrary to the Osamu several years ago. The Osamu that he knew fluctuates between being cold to being a bit rowdy, a bit nice but can be a shithead as Atsumu, cool headed and competitive at the same time. He only talks a little outside the court when it’s not about his brother but could really raise his voice when he was heated and riled up, he refuses to do stupid unnecessary things but is willing to join Atsumu’s stupid antics and sometimes he would cook for them but refuses to share something he bought.

He sneaked eating bento in class behind a book because he was hungry, Suna was sure it happened not just once. It was stupid, honestly. The Osamu that he knew gets into fights with his brother all the time, appears in school with bandages littered on his face, sleeps on free time and goes missing every time because he had to buy his favorites at vending machines and the cafeteria. He doesn’t get him unlike Atsumu who was pretty straight forward. The Osamu that he knew was someone he didn't want to get involved with.

But this time, Suna thought that maybe a Miya in his life wouldn’t be so bad. So, he asked him, maybe 50 questions later with a little help and boost of courage from his shit-flavored canned alcohol of a friend: “Hey, what are you doing later?”

Osamu almost jolted at the question. He looked up from his lashes, long calloused fingers fiddling the tab of his can. “Later?”

“I mean, after this?”

First time was surprisingly easy. He ended up at Osamu’s apartment with the last layer of clothing gone. Osamu descended upon him like a starved wolf, lips claiming Suna’s in a passionate kiss. It is not chaste or slow to build, how a first time should have been. No, this is deep and wild from the start. Osamu met him in his frenzy, all too happy to have the life kissed out of him. It punches a moan out of him, one he futilely tries to swallow back. Osamu was too much for a first time.

They were face to face and Suna could see his reflection in Osamu’s eyes.

“Ya really love that, huh?” he said, as he slipped another finger between his lips. It was not really a question.

Suna’s mouth was warm, slick, and wet. Slack until Osamu moved his fingers back but Suna sucked them in, his tongue rising to glide across the underside. It was impossible not to find a rhythm in the hollowing of his cheeks, pushing in and stroking out. Suna hummed around Osamu’s fingers.

Suna would’ve said ‘yes’ but there was insufficient space in his busy mouth to enunciate words. Only hoarse utterances begging for more, more, more.

* * *

**II.**

Suna already lost count of the nights here in Osamu’s apartment. He could remember the first time, the second and the third. Tonight? He lost track. It wasn’t easy as before. Maybe if he stuck with his old principle that he should not involve himself in one of the Miya's antics, this situation would have been avoided. But this _‘maybe if’_ is a hypothetical situation.

It’s for the what-ifs, what-coulds and what-nots. It’s about being in the middle of exclusivity and carnal commitments. It’s about the fine blurred lines. It’s about Osamu’s existence prodding him and wanting to leave but always looking back. It's about how bitter he has become for tasting the sweetest. It’s about him walking out of Osamu’s life, _maybe tonight_ , kissing him for the last time.

Maybe tonight is the last time. Things stopped being easy a long time ago.

If Suna listens close enough, he thinks he can hear more than the quietness that happens every time he watches Osamu sleep. If he listens closely, he thinks he can hear Osamu’s soft sighs underscored by tenderness. If Suna listens intently, he thinks he can hear Osamu as moon phases.

Moonfall, moonrise, moonlight, moonbeams. Moon phases are another way of saying, changing, always going and I lov-

* * *

It was probably at his own apartment room, where it all began. _Weird, personal, or intimate?_ Whichever the case, he shouldn’t let Osamu into his own private space. Even though it was another case (or excuse) of a chance meeting because, believe it or not, food business and professional volleyball are unexpectedly close and related to each other.

In a few exchanges of: “It’s already late.”, “Yes.”, “You should stay the night.”, “I don’t wanna be a bother.”, “Think of this as returning the favor for letting me stay at your place when I was drunk.” and “Well, aren’t ya convenient?”

The next thing he knew was clothes falling away piece by piece as they fumble around their way in Suna’s apartment. They filled the room with sound. The slide of skin upon skin. Suna keening whimpers and gasping moans. Osamu’s shuddering calls of Suna’s name, both of them unraveling, the flux of pleasure. Osamu bit at his shoulder, sucked a bruise against his skin making constellations of bruises over his body.

“Let me see you.”

Suna obeyed, rocked back, thrusted his hips up, looked up at Osamu. The room was dark, but the first quarter ebbs of moonlight touch at their shoulders. Osamu’s eyes were bright.

Their eyes met, dark and flooded with their desire and Osamu did not look away.

“You’re beautiful, Rin.” Osamu heaved out.

Suna hissed at the sensation of Osamu’s nails digging down his sides as he scrambled for more purchase, to hold him in place as he rocked into him. He shifted his legs up and wrapped tight around Osamu’s hips to drag him in deeper, closer, keeping him there and clinging to him, the tears stinging his expression. So, Osamu repeated the motion, dragging the blunt side of his nails down his chest, whispering Suna’s name when fingers curled tight into his hair and held his face and wiped a tear.

“You’re beautiful, Rin.” Osamu repeated.

You’re a fool, Osamu, he thought to himself.

* * *

He shouldn’t believe Osamu when he said he was beautiful. Osamu’s words are like a sharp object wrapped in silk fabric. He tries to hold it delicately so as not to damage the silk wrapping. Maybe, he’ll use it to cut salmon the next time he helps Osamu cook dinner or to slice apples that he has come to never forget to bring over. It will also come in handy in cutting the yellowing leaves of his plant.

Osamu’s words are like a sharp object wrapped in silk fabric. But most often, he’ll probably lock it safely in the 3rd drawer, pretending such a dangerous thing doesn’t exist.

* * *

**III.**

Sometimes, they don't do anything but talk at night.

A cooking show competition was playing on the television in Suna's living room. He was leaning on Osamu’s shoulder, but his attention was on his phone, checking what was trending or something. Sometimes he can feel the slight vibrations of Osamu’s body when he gives a small laugh to whatever was happening on the television.

“Have I ever mentioned how much I hate finances?” Osamu shoved another spoonful of pudding in his mouth.

“Yeah, you did.”

“Ugh.” Osamu let out an agitated groan for like the nth time now and Suna didn’t really mind. “Want some?” A spoonful of pudding appeared in front of his face. Suna obliged, took it in his mouth.

“Sunarin, when we were in high school…” Osamu began to recollect the memory in one commercial break, “Ya took a lot of photos and videos of us. What was for?”

“Kita-san made us take a group photo with our banner at the back, I am sure he’ll bring up that embarrassing photo 10 years later. Gotta make sure I also have something embarrassing to bring up 10 years later.” he explained nonchalantly as he gave Atsumu’s selfie on Instagram story an angry reaction, just to piss him off.

“Yer evil.” Osamu let out a soft laugh, although Suna was not sure if it was about his statement or if Osamu saw what he did with Atsumu’s selfie.

“I really thought before that yer gonna pursue photography or somethin’.” Osamu looked over his shoulder to look at Suna who never took off his attention in viewing people’s Instagram stories. “Never took ya as someone who would go pro, to be honest. But ya take reeeal good photos back then.”

Suna brought his phone closer to his face as Osamu only continued to study his movements over his shoulder. “It was only a hobby. More like,” there was a slight pause on his voice, “a phase or something.”

“Back then, how was it with volleyball? How was it different with takin’ photos? Was it not a phase?” he asked with a voice that Suna can't quite read.

Suna stopped what he was doing and removed his head from Osamu’s shoulder. He turned his head to look at him, trying to get a clear look at Osamu’s expression.

“The opportunity presented itself, so I am here. Like that time when Coach invited me to Inarizaki, I just took the opportunity.”

Osamu only gave him a same calm expression and hummed in response, acknowledging his reason. He scooped another portion of pudding from the tub and fed it to Suna.

“Yer energy level skyrockets whenever ya take photos.” Osamu’s face lit up, there was a glint in his eye and his canine peeking in his small smile. “Lookin’ all smiley and shit.”

Suna chuckled at this and returned him a similar expression. “Smiley and shit, huh.” he repeated his words.

“Yeah because yer too intimidatin’ on court. Even when ya score, ya only have a smug face.”

“It’s part of my game.”

“Mind game.”

Suna smiled at this, taking it with pride that earned him an eye roll from Osamu. For a while they went back to their own business with Osamu’s eyes glued to the cooking show and his almost empty tub of pudding and with Suna clearing notifications on his phone. They sat apart from each other, taking the both ends of the couch this time. For a while, Suna hoped that he could get used to this. A slight distance but also a natural proximity.

“Hey Sunarin.” He looked at Osamu whose face was reflected by the changing lights and colors from the television. Osamu scooted over next to him, closer. He nudged at his side but still not even taking off his eyes at whatever was on the television.

“What’s your deal?” he asked him.

“Let’s take a photo.”

“What?” He let out a half-suppressed laugh. “Planning to bring it up 10 years later? Our situation would really sound embarrassing 10 years later.”

In the end they took two underexposed blurry photos of them, with the light only coming from the television. The first was Suna with a deadpan expression and a half-hearted peace sign. The other one was with his tongue stuck out. The latter one, Osamu made it his contact photo of him. Suna didn’t understand the reason, tried not to think too much of the reason.

* * *

**[osamu >:| sent you 2 photos]**

**[select photo]**

**[set as selected photo as osamu >:|’s contact photo]**

* * *

He quietly strokes his hair and kisses his ear, whispering words that he should only have said to a lover. He reaches out to hold his hand, wanting to believe it’s something.

There are plenty of people to have fun with, and then there’s him. Fun with him is different. He wants to return the comfort because Osamu is not only one of those ‘people’ to have fun with, he has made himself Suna’s friend and longing- a borderline urgency to reach wherever he is.

He mentally cursed him for overdoing things, for acting like he had to take care of him, for being too much, for being whatever is this, for being someone he shouldn’t be especially with Suna.

* * *

**IV.**

Maybe his younger sister and Komori are right. He actually likes _him._

But Suna Rintarou calls it a bad phase. Call it like a guilty pleasure. Unfortunately, and inconveniently, it makes him happy.

* * *

“Lookin’ pretty huh?”

“ _Please,_ ” Suna took off his eyes at his phone screen. “Don’t bring me one of those anymore.”

Suna pointed at the potted plant placed at the table near his window. Osamu just got out of the shower with a towel placed at the top of his head.

“Well, yer doin’ a great job takin’ care of that beauty.”

Suna busied himself once again with his phone. Sent Atsumu a bad press-taken photo of him, muted another message, adjusted the alarm for the weekend. There was a weight pressing down at the side at the mattress, so he spared Osamu a cursory glance, followed by a kick at his sides.

“Nope.” Suna complained for the nth time now. “Dry your hair first.”

“Don’t wannaaa. I am beat, Sunarin! Just think of what ya just did to me earlier.” Osamu insisted and fought his weak kicks.

“Yer just makin’ another excuse for me to dry yer hair!”

Osamu let out an ardent laugh and Suna only realized he did it again. A grumpy habit.

“Ugh fine.” he said in resignation and went through drawers and cabinets, trying to find his misplaced hairdryer again.

Osamu disappeared for a while and came back with ice pops from the kitchen. He plopped himself on the floor. Suna plugged in the hairdryer at the nearest socket and started drying Osamu’s hair, sitting at the edge of the bed.

“Here.” A hand and an ice pop almost knocked Suna’s face, he paid it no mind and bit the plastic in his mouth.

“Thanks.” he said after two bites of the green apple flavored ice.

“Hey Sunarin,” Osamu called out. “Do ya wanna go out tomorrow? I don’t know… let’s go for a drive or somethin’?”

Suna only focused on the dark hair in front of him, feeling the soft strands tangled between his fingers. He was filled with a vague, different sense of apprehension. It was volatile and tantalizingly painful because he couldn't quite place his finger on it. There is just something uneasy about this- about this feeling.

“You say the most unexpected things sometimes.” he said to Osamu.

“I do?”

“You do.”

Suna leaned down and bit the ice pop from Osamu’s hand.

“Case example: ‘how do ya like yer eggs in the mornin’.” Suna said with a laugh. “That was so bad.”

“Well, it worked!” Osamu protested.

Suna cited more examples, “Saying you’re gonna quit volleyball to me first in high school and asking me what gift you should get Kita-san.”

“Well, you were in my class for all those three years and you seemed close with Kita-san back then.”

“All done.” Suna announced once he was satisfied with his job with Osamu’s hair. He took his ice pop from Osamu’s hand once he put the hairdryer away.

“Ya should be my personal hairdryer. Yer the best Sunarin.” Osamu sighed as he buried himself in the pillows.

“See, you say the most unexpected things sometimes.”

Suna joined him in the bed and pulled the blanket up his chest. He reached for his phone in the nightstand. Cleared notifications, muted another message, and blocked a number from a person he clearly doesn’t have any interest after a night months ago. What a prick. Suna returned his phone in the nightstand and turned to face Osamu.

“Your hair’s getting longer. We should get it cut tomorrow.”

“Nope,” Osamu blinked at him. “Yer the one who says the most unexpected things sometimes Rin.”

* * *

“Say, do you believe in karma?”

Unlike the usual days, Suna was spacing out without a phone to toy with or earphones plugged in to isolate his thoughts from everyone’s business. His sister, on the other hand, sits comfortably beside him in their train ride back to their home, upon deciding some weeks ago to visit their parents together.

She paused the video she was watching on her phone and removed an earbud.

“What is it again?” she asked.

Suna only looked at the windows in front them, watched power lines and buildings pass through in blurry motions. The full moon is high in the sky and it seemed to follow the train. As a child, Suna was one of those kids who believed the moon was following them when he looked out from their car’s window. The full moon looked encouraging, all bright guiding his current concerns and life reevaluations.

“I think that karma is biting me in the ass for running away to all the people I got involved in the past.” He looked up at the ceiling, not really knowing where to look. He settled his gaze at the hanging handrail as they swayed lightly with the train’s movement and thought of Osamu.

“Huh? What are you on? Geez, is it a _love_ problem?” she shot him a disgusted look.

“Stop putting it that way.”

“But, you know,” Suna looks at her, the same eyes as him staring back, “it’s great. Love, that is.”

It was his turn to give her a disgusted look. “Now, what the hell are you on?”

“It’s great okay?” she protested. “Love is great when it’s _real_ , you know.” she sighed, immediately flipping her expression to something dreamy.

“That guy… good for you, huh?”

“Of course, he’s great! You and dad are just overbearing!”

Who would’ve thought that this younger sister of his, this almost a carbon copy of him, would be sighing dreamily over a guy? Maybe that’s really love for some people. It’s not a bad look on her. Smiley and shit. Happy, that is.

“I wonder if my old camera is still working at home.”

_Maybe_ he should go back to photography. He could try again.

* * *

**V.**

They had only ever discussed their situation briefly. Suna knows this. Suna realized a time ago that he does not often reach the corners of commitments, that their relationship with exclusivity and carnal commitments are strained and far between. Suna does not know how Osamu might view him. He probably thinks of him as a convenience and has never asked him this.

But him, Suna thinks he views Osamu as more than a convenience. Osamu could never be just a convenience. This could only ever be kindness, joy but also an ache of misery. This could only ever be lov-

No, not yet. He can’t say the word yet.

He wants to ask: _Do you want this? Do you ever think of me?_ But he is afraid of the answer, already knows that answer. The questions kept nagging at his heart like a fishbone stuck in his throat.

* * *

“Hey Suna, why me?” Osamu said after spitting the toothpaste foam. He twisted the faucet in the opposite direction and washed his toothbrush thoroughly.

“Huh?” Suna said, still with a mouthful of toothpaste foam and a toothbrush shoved in. He blinked at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror as Osamu rinsed his mouth.

“I mean, yer Sunarin.” he said before taking a sip of water from the cup, swishing it around his mouth before spitting it again. Suna only continued to brush his teeth in circular motions with an eyebrow irked up, waiting for Osamu to explain himself.

“Ya appear on TV,” he continued, “billboards and magazines. Ya probably can get any person that ya like. And comin’ and goin’ to meet up with me is probably inconvenient plus it’s not like I am available all the time.” Osamu wiped his mouth with a towel, not breaking off his eye contact with his Suna’s reflection in the mirror.

Suna only responded after finishing himself. “That’s also applicable to you. Then, why me, too?” He turned around to face Osamu, looked at him in the eye that isn’t through the mirror’s reflection this time. “Isn’t it inconvenient? Do you want to stop?” he asked him.

“I don’t find it inconvenient at all.” Osamu shrugged it off easily. Even looking glad that everything is still okay on his side, at least.

Suna placed the toothbrush back from the cup together with Osamu’s. He wanted to dispose of this.

* * *

**VI.**

Suna rolled over the bed, lifted his upper body with his elbow and watched as Osamu got dressed. He watched the flex of the muscles in his body go taut as he slid the sleeves through his arms first then his head.

“What are ya smilin’ at?”

“Nothing.”

Osamu gave him an equal expression of a satisfied smile as he straightened the creases of his shirt.

Suna turned over and lied supine on his back. “Where will you be again?” he asked Osamu, hugging his favorite long pillow, tucking it under his chin.

“Kobe then back to Hyogo.”

He only hummed as a response and closed his eyes, preparing his dozy self from sleeping. _That’ll be almost three weeks_ , he thought. Maybe he’ll forget Osamu in those three weeks. Maybe he’ll never send a message again and add Osamu to his list of muted messages. Maybe he’ll find someone else. Osamu wouldn’t mind because there’s no ‘them’ in the first place.

“Hey.” Osamu’s figure casted a shadow that prompted him to open his eyes. He looked up at Osamu and saw him all dressed up, a backpack, slung on his shoulder.

Osamu crouched down on the floor to get on his level. “Hey.” he repeated.

Suna turned his face to his right and met Osamu’s. “I am leaving.” he told him.

_Good. I hope you don’t come back ever again._

“Uhuh. Drive carefully.” he muttered a weak reply.

Before he knew it, Osamu drew his face closer to him and kissed his forehead. The fondness and affection expanded in Suna’s chest. Osamu looked down at him and smiled; it feels as if the universe has compressed down into this single fucking moment. Somewhere out there the moon waxes its gibbous cycle, pierces its glowing eye to someone waiting for a realization and intention.

“G’night. Don’t miss me too much.”

He wondered if it was stupid, that this made him feel _loved_ —just the proximity and the trust from Osamu that comes with it; that kind of bigheartedness.

* * *

He actually likes him.

But Suna Rintarou calls it a bad phase. Call it like a guilty pleasure. Unfortunately, and inconveniently, it makes him happy.

* * *

“The bathrooms here in Sendai Gym are cursed or something.”

Komori appeared in the room, wiping his hand with a pocket handkerchief. His facial expression is between pissed and grossed out. He muttered under his breath that sounded like curses and something along the lines of _‘when did he learn to get this annoying’._

“Huh? What do you mean?” Suna asked, half-concerned as he wrapped tape on his fingers.

“Oh, don’t mind me just bumped into my cousin in the bathroom.” Komori said with a sigh and sat beside him.

For some reason, his mind wandered from bathroom stories from other people he knows.

“Hey Komori,” he started. “What if, doing the bad thing makes you happy?” He felt Komori’s eyes lingered on him, but he didn’t take off his gaze in his fingers as he overlapped the tape two, three times for a secure hold. “Well, not really bad, but like, hurtful?” he continued.

He saw Komori touch his chin in his peripheral vision, like he was lost in a deep thought. “Isn’t that the same?” he said after deliberating for a long time.

Suna added another row of tape between the first and second joints of his ring finger. “Yeah, something along those lines.”

_Ah, it’s ridiculous._ Suna had only realized how ridiculous his question was. Way to go to mess up his thoughts before a game, really. Komori got up from his seat and went to the lockers behind him. He continued to wrap tape from his fingers securely together but not so tight.

“But does it really make you happy?” Komori said after a long pause in the room. “Or is it just some trick that makes your brain think that you are happy?” Komori appeared beside him again and held out the scissors. Suna only nodded and let him cut the tape.

_Snip._

Suna flexed his fingers to wear the stiffness of the tape. He held it out and admired his work. It's rotten work. No, not this one. The other work that gives him a shitpile of doubts and worry creeping in like worms in an apple.

“Or maybe you’re the only one thinking it’s something bad and hurtful. You should let yourself happy if it’s something that truly makes you happy, I guess.”

* * *

**osamu >:|**

Miss me?

_part of you_

* * *

When they met again after four weeks of not seeing each other. It was a hasty, shaky fuck on the bed. Every inch of Suna’s skin felt like it was on fire, his entire body shaking, revolving around Osamu.

Osamu’s back was arched, hips thrusting up towards Suna, needy and imprecise and desperate, his mouth opened as he made soft, keening sounds.

Repeatedly, Osamu shifted, surging against Suna’s touch, into the flex and hold of his hands. Suna hands grip his hips tightly, hard, and sharp enough to bruise. The words that stutter out of Osamu’s mouth in time to the movement of his hips aren’t quite words but sounds that are full of breath and air and curses.

“I am hurting you.” Suna whispered, his body desperate for Osamu.

Osamu only shook his head, but his voice was hitched and light and breathy. “No- keep goin’. Don’t stop.”

Osamu moaned out weakly, gripped tightly to sheets as they moved. Suna thrusted into him. It was an unsteady tempo, but it was theirs. Or it is what he believed so.

He came shivering and he was soaked in an unnamed need, aching, arching- gasping out to Osamu. Suna can’t breathe. And still he yearns. Still, he reaches.

* * *

Suna woke up to the smell of home cooked meals. He usually skips breakfast since his family would always still keep some leftovers for him. Sleep was much more important, so he swatted his arm next to the empty space in an attempt to recover his favorite long pillow.

Not so long after getting up to look under the bed for the missing pillow, he realized that this was not his room. Not his parents’ house, not his apartment. Not in Aichi, not in Shizuka.

This was Miya Osamu’s apartment in Hyogo. He was in the room with the annoying big windows and thin curtains. A room that directly faces east, the one that greets you a ‘Good morning! Today is a good day!’ too early -at least in Suna’s standards.

He let out a groan and called out Osamu.

“OSAMU, YOU ASSHOLE! WHY DIDN’T YA WOKE ME UP?”

A grumpy habit. He let out another defeated groan before dragging himself out of the bed.

“Have ya ever noticed? Your Kansai-ben appears when yer grumpy.” Osamu cited as Suna shoved another tamagoyaki in his mouth.

Osamu liked his eggs as tamagoyakis in the morning. 

“Well, I don’t actually have anything to do today.” Suna confessed. “So, I guess this is okay.”

“And the food?”

Osamu looked at him like a big puppy across the table, waiting for an answer. Suna chewed his food slowly as he thought of an answer. Osamu likes compliments when it comes to his cooking but feedbacks or some sort were like Michelin stars to Osamu. Suna, who always struggled with words, had improved his words which were once limited to ‘good’, ‘bad’ and ‘too salty’ before. Well, it was hard to come up with something more complex to say about _rolled omelettes._

“It’s good,” he admitted. He looked at Osamu for a reaction. There was an eyebrow raise. “But I like my eggs as sunny side up though.”

“Oh, so you weren’t kidding back then.” Osamu said unexpectedly, a tad cheerful. He could feel Osamu’s foot kicking and rubbing his under the table.

“That pick-up line of yours was horribly effective.” was probably a better comment than saying something really pretentious about rolled omelettes.

* * *

**[@ejp.sunarin shared a story]**

**[a photo of an empty plate captioned with ‘good morning. today is a good day.’]**

* * *

With a hot sense of horror, Suna realized they were cuddling, because Osamu’s arm was right there around his waist and Suna’s head had found a pillow on Osamu’s chest. His dazed mind was following the sound of Osamu’s steady heart.

_Shit,_ he thought, which was very on point. He shouldn’t be doing this right now. People in their situation don’t do this.

“What is this.” he mumbled to himself.

_What the fuck is this._

Suna mustered enough energy to sneak a look at Osamu’s face which was mostly obscured at this angle but still showing enough for him to spy all the quiet tenderness through the calm expression. All of which blossomed into a flourishing shitpile of worry. Which, in turn, he will cover up by more layers of casual excuses. More doubts crept in like worms in an apple.

* * *

Suna actually likes him. God, how fucking inconvenient.

* * *

**VII.**

At some point, of course, Suna always tried to end this ‘stress-relief optimal solution to being touch starved’ business thing. He used _“I don’t have time anymore”_ , _“I am somewhere far”_ , _“I want to use this time to practice”_ and _“I am tired”_ excuses but something always brings Suna back to Osamu.

He hates how Osamu reduced him to this: waking up in the morning and wondering if he already ate breakfast, trying to enjoy a diet chicken breast for lunch and thinking how he can probably eat this every day without a problem, finding an item in an online shopping website and thinking how he would love it, hitting an easy toss and think what if it he was there on the same court, chewing dinner and hoping he was already closing his shop and ready to go home safe, and then, before he sleep he would fight the urge to call him again.

He hates how he reduced him to this: a walking, breathing, collage of information and affection who is too scared to ask about their situation, because no matter what he does or says, something always brings Suna back to Osamu.

He hates how he can’t bring himself up to say _“It’s been fun but let’s end it already”_ to Osamu’s face.

He wishes he could tell him how much he cares for him, how much he thinks of him, how much he lo—. Suna can’t say it. He mustn't say it. The more he talks about it. The harder it gets to ignore the more he wants to tell him.

* * *

In their supposed to be ‘final’ sex: Osamu told him; he wouldn’t mind seeing him again. A lengthy explanation followed but Suna was unable to listen.

Suna wanted to run away from everything that is Osamu.

Something always brings Suna back to Osamu. Like a pair of shoes, a sweatshirt, a toothbrush, and a book.

Osamu left a pair of shoes and a sweatshirt in his apartment. The shoes weren’t even his size and the sweatshirt had his name and his favorite food printed on it. The name isn’t exactly his name since it’s also Atsumu's name and Osamu doesn't admit to onigiri being his favorite food as it would be an insult to his other favorite food. Suna thought of maybe disposing of them

He also left a book. A book Osamu promised himself he will read on long commutes and vacations, but he has been on the road more than here and he hasn't gotten past page ten. Page ten and Suna have a lot of common, you see.

And there was his toothbrush, in its usual spot. A something that will always remind what is left of what Suna feels for Osamu. A proof that he will always come back, and he has a space in Suna’s life. A white and blue plastic toothbrush with sea green stripes on its bristles that Osamu uses before he leaves Suna every time. He just can’t help to keep it there, where he left it.

* * *

In the hours in the silver-gold afternoon, Osamu insisted on retrieving his things in Suna’s apartment. And the end of the day it all went down to:

“Go slow.”

Osamu moved slower now, his touch light, almost hesitant, doesn’t really know if he’s doing it right. He touched Suna. Slow and steady, every inch of him.

Suna slammed his eyes shut, focused on the soft touch of Osamu touching him and not hurting him, smoothing over his skin, and leaving goose bumps in its wake. Osamu lifted his hand, touched Suna’s cheek, touched his hair, fingernails threatening to cut into flesh, like piercing the skin of an apple

Suna wrapped his arms around Osamu’s shoulders, pressing his forehead against his shoulder, remembering how to breathe, and letting himself be fooled again by himself.

* * *

**VIII.**

_Shit,_ which was very on point. I overslept again.

He woke up late in Osamu's apartment again, alone this time. He navigated his way out of the bedroom to the kitchen. He almost bumped into some piece of furniture all sleepy-eyed, calling out for Osamu’s name, complaining how he didn’t wake him up.

He reached the kitchen and a bright yellow post-it note with a familiar handwriting scrawled up in red ink stuck on the dining table caught his eye.

“You mentioned you don’t have any schedule today, so I didn’t wake you up. Eat up! PS. Heat it up if it’s already gone too cold yer likin’.” the note said.

Suna lifted the food cover from the dining table and a perfect egg yolk reflected him a sunny stare. Suna doesn’t like ketchup on his food but he gave the bottle a generous squeeze, giving the egg a red smudged smiley face. Maybe he’ll allow himself to be happy this time.

* * *

“Well what now?” Suna asked.

They had gone out for the day to get Suna’s camera fixed then, a plan to go for a drive wherever the four wheels took them. He was hoping to take photos that day but the man from the camera shop had told him they still have to order the part that needs replacement. It will take roughly a week to get his camera fixed.

“Here.” Osamu handed him a familiar green box. “I got it from the shop earlier. Wanna still go for a drive?”

Suna looked at Osamu. The afternoon sun came in just at the right angle and Osamu’s gray eyes caught light and clusters of its refractions like stars and how unfair that is.

“Just realized it’s our first day out. Makes you think, we’re like vampires or something that only meets each other at night.”

“Well, Sunarin, people have a term for this kind of _relationship_ we have. Not some kind of vampires.”

“You’re right.” Suna laughed and thought of how dumb what he just said.

“I don’t know if ya ever used one of these and I know yer phone’s camera quality is better, but I just remembered how Atsumu is into these things.”

Osamu took the green box from his hand and opened it. He took out the disposable film camera and looked through the viewfinder.

“Cheese~” he pointed the camera at Suna.

Suna smiled with all pearly whites displayed this time. Smiley and shit. Happy, that is.

* * *

_i picked up my camera from the shop today_

_we should go for a drive or smthn next time_

_i wanna take some photos again_

_and we should get the film photos developed_

**osamu >:|**

Uhuh

You really say the most unexpected things sometimes

* * *

Suna lies awake in the gray predawn of one more day. He thinks and thinks and thinks how he is constantly stuck between trying to choose among the following:

a.) telling him and finally becoming everything

b.) choosing not to tell him but getting to stay in his life anyway

c.) telling him and then having none of him at all

He thinks of Osamu even when there was no space left to think of himself, so he started counting sheep.

Maybe he’ll finally tell him when he wakes up. After all, it’s the new moon again.

* * *

Suna may or may not have been staring at the ceiling of his room for some time now. He was not even entirely sure if he slept or not. He practiced his lines over and over, imagining every possibility that could happen. His thoughts were interrupted by the realization of Osamu’s presence waking up, moving next to him, tugging almost all of the blanket space to him. The cold air from the room air conditioning washes him some sense to just _‘fuck it and do it already’_.

“Hey.” He lies on his side, props up an elbow to face Osamu. He greets him with his usual platitude. He wonders what Osamu sees in him at the moment. He probably looks like shit from all those thoughts last night.

“Good mornin’.” Osamu rubs his eyes and mimics his position. An unusual _‘too big smile for a morning’_ is plastered on his face.

“What are you smiling at?” he asks.

Osamu's face is lit up, there’s a glint in his eye and his canine peeking in his smile. “It’s the first time ya woke earlier than me.” he answers and Suna doesn't really understand all of it but he wants to punch Osamu in the face and wipe that smile in his face for messing up with him and his feelings. This is no time for butterflies in his stomach.

“And?” he responds in a usual deadpan tone.

“It’s my first time waking up to yer face.”

Ah, the script that he practiced all night on his head be damned. The butterflies in his stomach punches him instead. Suna can’t think of anything. There’s this slight panic and he feels his bile rising up his throat.

“C’mere.” Osamu’s voice knocks him out of his daze. He flaps the blanket open, encouraging him to join him in. Hesitantly, he moves close to him, pressing his forehead on Osamu’s chest. He closes his eyes when Osamu’s hand touches his sides. His fingers are wandering, sliding along the full length of Suna’s arm, feeling every centimeter of taut muscle. It’s broad and warm, with sure, calloused fingers reaching to caress his face.

“I’ve always wanted to do this.” Osamu confesses, burying his face on top of Suna’s head.

“Really?”

Osamu only replied with a quiet grunt and with his arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer in an embrace. The warmth seeps through Suna’s clothes, all the way down through his heart. He decides to swallow back the bile rising to his throat.

“Hey Osamu.” he finally says. “I have something to tell you.”

“What?”

The words are there, but still unspoken: _love._

The moon is beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> what a wild ride. this fic has been sitting on my drafts for 4 months and went thru 7 heavy revisions. you can read more abt this fic here in my [carrd](https://3838-07734.carrd.co/#moonsick)  
> kudos and comments are very very very much appreciated! i am also curious how do you guys like your eggs in the morning. (un comentario en español es apreciado. me encantaría practicar mi español!)
> 
> -rin


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